Things I Do: The Laundry

Tags

chores, clean, home, laundry, life, waiting

Note: See other items on a list of Things I Do and Things I Don’t Do here: Cook Dinner, Watch TV, Make the Bed, Return Phone Calls, Stand Up When I Pee

Laundry is something I wish I didn’t do. Wish I didn’t have to. When I lived at home as a graduate student and chose the chore to express my independence, it felt therapeutic to pull sleeves from the tangled mess and make new piles like primary colored paint pools. I look, now, at the overfilled bin of co-mingling cottons with a side eye, skittishly escaping into the other room before the laundry sees me.

There’s no way to keep the dirty, like a negative charge, from sticking to positive you. Cover the body with clothes and then the you and the clothes need to find their way back to clean. In our house, there’s no fighting about who does the laundry, only agreement on how we avoid it until no underwear remain.

The truth, though, is that I do the laundry. As much as I’d sometimes like to, I don’t wear dirty clothes to work or inside out underwear underneath. I wash the clothes, leaving dryer sheets stuck in armpits and losing mismatched socks like upside down miracles. I do not separate the clothes like my dad so dutifully did when I lived at home, and nothing, thankfully, turns pale pink and plays on tricks on me. I wait until the very last minute, forced to put together tights and tops and scarves and shoes in a rainbow of shades, six different blues, but I get dressed and do the laundry and we all wear clean clothes because of this thing I (we) do.

New Friends

Tags

adulthood, driving, friendships, geography, life, living, moving, new york, NYC, relationships, teens, wine

Making new friends is awkward, touch and go like learning to drive a car as a teen. Already uncomfortable in the skin you’re in, slamming the brake when you know you shouldn’t, but you’re scared, so you do, this is how it goes.

Making new adult friends is this but with coffee, cold from the afternoon, still in hand as a prop. It’s this with wine in plastic cups like Dixie, like the teeth-brushing rinser-outer cups for me and my brother, but see-through and bigger. More room for more wine for the silences.

But I’m new here so making friends is what I’ll have to do, always slamming on the brakes with Dixie cups of wine.

No Makeup Saturday

Tags

alex trebec, beauty, entertainment, fashion, female, friends, hair, life, makeup, style, women

I wish it were Monday. No make-up Monday has such a ring to it. And Mondays are a nice excuse for anything. You know, people have heart attacks on Mondays more than any other day. Alex Trebec knows this for sure.

The point is, today’s a day to get ready the regular way. Jeans-n-boots, my favorite t shirt, with pencil sketches of the band Cream on the front. New gray jacket from H&M, mustard seed necklace, wedding and engagement bands. My hair styles are simple, but there are lots of them. I never like to wear my hair the same way. All my friends know that I’m the best nonprofessional hairstylist they know. I don’t know how it happens; but it does.

And then only lotion on my winter-chapped face. Out the door. You see, I’m often caught in the white lie that I don’t wear any makeup. Ever. And, to be fair, no one ever actually calls me out on this, but I know that when I say it, it’s only a half-truth. I wear exponentially less makeup than everyone I know. Except my girlfriends, Sarah and Charissa, they really don’t wear any. Not in the half-truth way. They may not even own any; you’d never know, pretty faces. Even my little sister, ten years my junior, (parental-style digression diverted) wears more makeup than I do.

For so many reasons, one of the primary being that I like sleep far too much to spend so much morning in front of the mirror, I don’t invest in all the accoutrements that the female population create a market for. Some cover up, a bronzer that has lasted me 6 years and sometimes a touch of nude eye color. The end. But today, the end is the beginning. None.

The circles under my eyes that have puffed up from crying for my best friend, for my girlfriends all 800 miles away, for enduring change and working too much, they stay gray and deep. The pimple that just mysteriously appeared on my right cheek is red from my rubbing it, and it stays red. Bummer for anyone who has to look at it. My eyelids are sort of veiny, I noticed the other day. And today, they remain such. My skin is a little flush in the winter, unevenly so. And tonight it remains.

I’m dressed and ready. I have my bag, my water bottle and a book for the train. I am makeupless and don’t feel self-conscious. Here I come, world. Look at me.

Things I Don’t Do: Make The Bed

Tags

bed, bedroom, home, hotel, household, husband, laundry, life, linen, logic, relationship, sleep

Note: See other items on a list of Things I Do or Things I Don’t Do here: Cook Dinner, Watch TV

I do not make the bed. Except on the rare occasion when the sheets and the duvet cover are all clean and everything smells like bounce freshener sheets which compels deep within me this irresistible urge to be wrapped up tightly and covered with cheese (yes, much like an empanada), except that the cheese is bounce fresh linens and all of this is happening on my bed.  When the ends of the sheets are gripped by the mattress bottom, they tug my down snugly so I can’t escape.  The comforter and the pillows pile on top of me in a perfectly made bed, making a cave that I could sleep in for days.  Ahh.

When the bed does get made, I compulsively hotel-tuck the corners of the bed sheets, though I do not do it well, and it’s only a night or two before the sheet is shamefully hanging on the ground from my big toe.  I do not, 361 days out of the year, make the bed (don’t worry, I wash my sheets more often than quarterly). I see no point in making something that we are planning on jumping in, in just a matter of hours, to roll around in and mess up again. It’s a silly cycle. No one needs my bed to be made.  My husband’s not a bed-maker; I am not a bed-maker.  We are both, conveniently, bed messer-uppers, so there should be no fussing or turn-taking.  Only sleeping and reading and snuggling and no making of any kind.

We come out of crumpled sheets and go into crumpled sheets and they are always comfortable and sometimes clean-ish. That’s quite enough in this household, thank you.

Things I Do: Watch TV

Tags

Christina Applegate, comedy, drama, entertainment, hobbies, life, love, Mulder, Mya Rudolph, relationships, Scully, television, The X-Files, travel, tv, Up All Night, Will Arnett

The last time I watched a television series, I was in high school. I watched The X-Files alone every Sunday night because none of my friends were remotely interested in the Fox drama. Clearly–I was so brilliant to understand the paranormal investigations and subtle humor, and they were so remedial to find the expertly designed one-hour drama uninteresting–clearly.

And so, with pride, I asked my secretary (Mom) to hold my phone calls, and make no plans (my schedule was pretty open at 9pm on a school night) during the airing of The X-Files. I watched for maybe four seasons, keeping track of the character development, noticing the ways Mulder was always, unbelievably, right, yet Scully’s skeptical and logical opinions were necessary and balancing for Mulder and for the show. I was definitely obsessed

I’ve never been, not now, not since, much of a television junkie. I don’t often get caught in front of the TV for hours, or mesmerized with a channel, watching show after show. No Oscar watch-parties for me, no DVR recordings, and a lot of HBO-based conversations that I’ve faked my way through.  I just can’t think of a time since The X-Files when I planned any part of my life around a television show.

On the plane ride home from our honeymoon, my husband and I had pretty much exhausted our onboard resources. We’d finished our books, read the in-flight magazines, finished a crossword puzzle, nibbled on the snacks I’d packed and listened to our ipods. The television was showing 30Rock, which my husband thinks is very funny so we plugged our headphones into the armrests. Afterwards, a new-ish show came on with Christina Applegate, Will Arnett, and Mya Rudolph; lots of names we knew, and a catchy roll of opening credits which kept us plugged in until the landing powered us down. I laughed aloud on the plane, embarrassingly, watching this young couple try to be cool parents.

And, simply, this is the way it goes now. Up All Night is our show. We don’t have need for a cable package because we can watch Up All Night on the internet (for now) without any illegal activity (thankfully). Wouldja loogit that…we have a TV show.

(a) Eyw, we have “a show” or (b) Yay, we have “a show!”  (not sure which to choose)

My adult self has never had a show, but I think I’m happy to have this one. It’s about a couple roughly our age, in roughly our stage of life, having hilarious arguments not unlike some that we’ve had, feeling things I know I’ve felt and laughing about it in the end, because they are oh-so-in-love, also, like us. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Embarrassingly, we also have The X-Files, because my sweet thinking-about-me husband purchased the first season on DVD and has been enduring it with me. It’s so nineteen-nineties, of course, but I still like the plots and the Mulder-is-always-rightness of it, just like I did a decade and a half ago.

We have two shows. (Woot?!) I value them. I will make time for TV. Wow—the things you thought you’d never say.

Our Lottery Fame

Tags

crossword puzzle, crosswords, life, lottery, lottery winners, money, thrill

We’ve won the lottery!, I said.

I had never won the lottery before, and neither had my husband. Right before, silver shavings falling in my lap, I could feel that it was coming as the moments of knowing for sure grew closer and closer. The inside of me bubbled over, refused to calm and stay contained. I knew we would win. I scratched the silver away and needed an “A”.  The corner was blank, and then I saw the apex…an “A”!  We reached the precious moment together and he showed calm, but insisted on collecting the prize himself. His way of naming and claiming the fortune, I reckon. It’s for sure–we had won the lottery.

It happened while we sat in our pajamas, still in bed in the afternoon, having to answer to no company while the sun breaks through the curtains, having scheduled no appointments or deliveries before lunch. We can sleep comfortably on our pending wealth.  Right before we won the lottery, we were reading torn paperbacks, each our chosen own.

I suppose, though, the winning actually happened, when we bought the ticket at the corner store. When the person before us and before them and before and before purchased each of those tickets in order to give us our perforated winning edges. No matter. Once we turned in our scratch-off crossword puzzle and collected our fifty dollars, we were epic lottery winners and nothing can ever change that kind of fame.

Things I Do: Cook Dinner

Tags

chicken, cook, dinner, enjoyment, food, garlic chicken, life, love, marriage, New York City, NYC, relationships, things i do

Someone should tell me that myspace isn’t a trendy social network anymore (see below).

It’s not even that I’m oh-so-totally-obsessed with taking pictures of myself. I have no emo photos with sultry eyes at the camera, thick gray eyeliner drawn to my ears, bangs in my face, bathroom mirror in the back, bra strap curling off my shoulder. Eyw, gross. It’s just that there’s only two of us and I want life to be frozen and framed like only photographs can.

I hate “welcome back” posts in the blogosphere. I just realized that I actually hate the word blogosphere, too. Eyw. We shall focus on the positive. I do, apparently, enjoy the blog more than I recognized. Catharsis, practice, brainstorm—something about it just works.

I like to do a lot of things. Herein begins a list of things I do, which is really just acting as a footbridge to cross to the more important list of Things I Don’t Do. A Shauna Neitquist book that I’m reading piecemeal, leisurely, has me talking all this inside out list-making nonsense.

And thus, I cook. We cook. We eat dinner (obviously…like you). Fish and chicken, beef stew, tofu. We let the crockpot simmer all day, we cook dessert before dinner, we eat while we heat, do dishes and play, grind vegetables and fruits to a glass full of of juice (and do dishes again).

The night we made garlic chicken and sweet potatoes from an internet recipe, I bought a whole chicken because I’m usually pretty great at following directions. The recipe never said anything about a head. It said whole, but it didn’t say head.

After defrosting the chicken, the visible breasts, thighs, drumstick legs, and wings, I lifted it from the sink and the head flopped down from it’s neat little place tucked under the chicky. The chicken hit the sink with a splat when I let it loose from my hands. I ran from it (in case?) like a tiny little girl.

I guess I’m not great in high pressure situations. When the smoke alarm went off a few weeks ago, I ran around the apartment, flapping a towel furiously overhead and shrieking “What do we do?” in what was once a whisper. You can imagine how helpful that was for clearing the smoke. Much like opening a window would have been.

Chicken heads and smoke alarms included, we shall continue to cook. Beware. (…or come over?)

8.Row 10

Tags

100 words, alphabet, character, city, DMV, driving, experience, eyesight, failure, Iran, life, observation, one hundred words, profile

At counter eleven, next to mine, folks were sent back to their seats for stepping out of line, coming before called, speaking on cell phones against the sign.

A man failed the eye test at eleven after hours of waiting in line. He failed when asked to read row 10. Gave Q’s instead of O’s. V’s instead of U’s. And two R’s instead of the letter H, even though with a good eye, they don’t look at all alike. In the end, after cleaning lenses and a thousand Iranian I’m sorry’s, he left with a temporary license, just like mine.

On Literature

Tags

Barnes and Noble, books, downtown, free events, friendship, life, literary event, literature, memories, new york, New York City, November, NYC, past, subway, Umberto Eco, Union Square, urban

With my last wish, I’d turn the clock back just four hours today and wait outside Union Square’s Barnes and Noble with hipsters and literary buffs. I’d wait for Umberto Eco, who I wouldn’t recognize if I had a lunch date with him. Still, I’d wait.

I’m something of a literary buff, you see. Or I at least, I play one in real life. But Eco is one Irish author whose name I turn my head to out of nostalgia, not knowledge.

When we first started talking about books, it could have been dead end conversation. It should have, maybe, been dry analysis over red-marked high school essays. She was, after all, nearly five years my junior. I had almost finished college. She hadn’t started.

But she loved Umberto Eco. We used to drink coffee as if we liked it—I think maybe she did—and browse bookstores, where I still love to get lost. Eco was sometimes stacked in hardback beneath a dark-stain ladder. Name of the Rose or On Literature, a cover I liked for its book spine after book spine, all in browns.

I went to a café and independent bookstore in Soho this evening, trying to made good on a deal to myself to get out and see the literary spots in the city. There was a nonfiction reading nearby which I walked to but couldn’t find. Lots of work this week makes my body scream for rest anyway; came home without too much disappointment. And some writing lodged up to boot. Browsing my internet bookmarks, I saw that the Eco event had transpired in Union Square. He had discussed his new bestseller, The Prague Cemetery. I’d walked up to Union Square on my way home from the café. While Eco was happening. We were so close.

I’ve still never read an Eco book. Almost bought the one with the book spine cover once, but I was feeling cheap and put it back on the wrong shelf. But I had this friend once who would have gone to this discussion had she known. Had she been here. She wouldn’t mind about the lines and the crowds and the fandom that tries to drink away the energy from literary nerds of all ages and stages. Or maybe she would, but all of that fades away for the one unique note of brilliance she might be able to hear Eco utter above the buzz.

I think I’ll buy On Literature.

Our Hydrangeas

Tags

choice, city, communication, faith, flowers, gift, hydrangeas, life, love, plants, relationship

Here we stand.                                               

We disagree

talking about potted plants                

splitting trees

balconies strain my eyes,

stretching as far as I can see

you still don’t see, I’m still me.

We disagree.

 

The hydrangeas grow

too tall for your front yard

Don’t survive

thrive on city windowsills

But still

you offer gardens of color

For us—the excommunicated

Lovers.